


I'll never unsee that

by FrozenMemories



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Episode Related, Gay panic!Henry, Humor, M/M, s10e09 Appendicitement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenMemories/pseuds/FrozenMemories
Summary: Not all birthday surprises are pleasant. Missing scene from Appendicitement.(tumblr fic prompt - dialogue: "I'll never unsee that.")





	1. I'll never unsee that

Henry sighed. His birthday had been a disaster. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere with the craziest bunch of weirdos he had ever encountered, drinking something that tasted stale and contained too much alcohol, but not enough to make him miss the fact that both his forearms stuck to the surface of the bar he was seated at. Or to make him forget the pain of his hopefully just sprained ankle. Or Shirley.

He had been told by all three of his friends and coworkers to _keep an eye_ on Shirley, but as it turned out she was the one keeping her eyes on him.

And where was anybody anyway?

~

When he finally managed to get outside Henry breathed in relief. He had been all but molested by the drunken woman and he felt the desperate need to shower at least twice, eat something sensible and catch up on some much needed sleep. His ankle still hurt and he had never felt more homesick than in this very moment.

At least he was alone. Briefly he closed his eyes and inhaled the mild midnight air. A small fraction of fear remained that Shirley would follow him out, but she had seemed rather shocked by his sudden outburst after her attempt to kiss him. He turned around anyway - just to make sure. Nope, nobody there.

He didn’t think anything of the noises he heard; in retrospect they should have been a warning. Not that they were loud, or distinct, but they were there.

Instead he walked - hobbled - right into it:

Stopping dead in his tracks, Henry felt like he had just been hit by a bolt of lightning (oh, how he wished he had!)

There, in a dark corner, leaning against the shabby walls of the shabby building in the shabby middle of nowhere was Hodges, pants down, eyes screwed shut and his head thrown back, with a dark figure kneeling in front of him.

He hadn't meant to make a sound, honestly. He had meant to drop dead, erase his memory of what he was seeing, turn back time, beam right out of there – anything but stare and let out a startled yelp that drew attention to him.

“Shit! Fuck, Henry!” Hodges all but stuttered as soon as his eyes caught sight of the unbidden spectator. He was helplessly scrambling around to somehow cover himself - as if Henry hadn’t already gotten a view of everything there was to see.

His jerky movement caused the man on his knees to sway slightly back and it took a moment for him to regain his balance.

No other than Nick Stokes turned to meet his gaze and then as quickly as possible hid his expression in the shadows. Henry had never seen a face blush that shade of red.

“Shit.” The single word seemed all he was capable of coming up with.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Hodges provided weakly, and Henry had to laugh involuntarily.

“Spare me the explanation,” he muttered. He really wanted to cover his eyes, turn away, not fucking look at those two! But his body was momentarily paralyzed and he stood rooted to the spot.

He felt his own face heating up and was sure he was blushing the same color as the other two.

Nick slowly rose, covering Hodges protectively while the other man awkwardly pulled up his pants.

“Look Henry,” he started. Before he could finish his thought Henry interrupted him, “I’d rather not! Jeez, I’ll never unsee that!” He shook his head and finally managed to turn away.


	2. The images still in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry wants to get those images out of his mind, but they persist. (And he is forced to face the implications)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to write a follow-up exploring how Henry processes this new information and how it might have an impact on the way he views his own sexuality. Gay panic ensues!
> 
> I haven't written awkward Henry before but I've enjoyed the ride, thanks anon. ;)

There is no better feeling than your face hitting the big, soft pillow of your own bed, Henry decides - especially when one has been through an ordeal like the one Henry Andrews has just been through. A _road trip gone bad_ would be the easiest way to describe it - not that Henry even has the energy left for a more specific recount. (And to whom, anyway?)

Breathing in the scent of fresh linen he lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. Almost on autopilot his hand slides down along his body, under the covers and into his boxers, for a well deserved good-night-release before he’s going to succumb to his exhaustion.

He’s just about to get real cozy, a first tentative moan rolling off his lips when an image flashes vividly across his mind and his eyes fly open in shock. He shakes his head to blink away the images of Hodges and Nick beside the restaurant slash dirty old shack. This is the last thing he wants to think about while jerking himself off, dammit!

After a few deep breaths he manages to train his brain on an image of Kate Upton, all soft curves, beautiful eyes and full, pouty lips. He sighs and settles further into the pillow, his hand picking up its previous task.

 _Flash_. There they are again.

Surrendering to the fact that the images are not likely going to disappear, he decides to just forgo the whole affair and try to fall asleep. His mind, however, keeps racing.

What disturbs him more than his inability to shake the unpleasant memory is the fact that it doesn’t seem to affect the state of his arousal. Henry’s not sure he’s ready to admit the implications of that, but the pulsating urge between his legs keeps nagging at his brain and his fingers twitch to do something about it. So what choice does he have but to face his inner turmoil if he wants to drift off anytime soon? With tentative motions he begins stroking himself again, while simultaneously trying to work out what it is about those particular recurring images that seems to spur him on instead of turning him off. Surely, _surely_ , it can’t be Hodges’ face, lost somewhere between pleasure and oblivion. Or that awkward way his brows furrow and his nostrils flare as his breath hitches in his throat.

No, Henry resolves, he definitely isn’t attracted to that man, who is one of his closest friends at the best of times and a very annoying co-worker at the worst.

So, is it Nick? Admittedly, that man can turn heads. All muscled confidence, warm eyes, charming smile. Henry mentally zooms in on those strong arms, holding on to his lovers’ hips, while his head moves up and - Henry shudders. No. This is wrong. Yes, Nick is attractive, but no, Henry definitely isn’t attracted to him, either.

Maybe it's just the situation itself - being turned on by witnessing any kind of sexual acts is not unheard of. It doesn't mean a thing. Add to that a sense of secrecy, hidden desires... the whole damn thing makes sense. It's all just about the act itself, he concludes, it has absolutely nothing to do with the people involved. He could just easily replace them in his fantasy – and he damn well should.

He tries to imagine a woman - Kate - in the same position: down on her knees, long hair cascading down her backside, himself against that wall... and increases the speed of his hand a little more.

 _Flash._ Kate Upton fades into the figure of Nick Stokes.

Shit. There is no way he is going to finish this thinking about his best friend’s boyfriend. Or lover, or whatever those two are, anyway. (Henry had been too shocked to ask and Hodges has been avoiding his eyes ever since, obviously not in the mood for a Q&A, either.)

And why is he thinking about Hodges again?

Henry groans - more out of frustration than from the sensation of his hand still pumping beneath the blanket.

Okay, so maybe he has been thinking of guys before, so what? As a teenager he would jerk off to his _Superman_ posters - doesn’t every boy go through that kind of a phase? An idea suddenly springs to his head. Maybe that’s the solution; he’ll just go back to his boyhood fantasy of Clark Kent: Cute smirk, nerdy specs, sharp suit and underneath all that the steeled body of _Superman_. He tries to concentrate on that face, looking up at him through thick rimmed glasses with his piercing blue eyes. Or were they green? He can’t seem to recall. Not that it should matter, he could just imagine him with his eyes closed, right?

A frustrated growl leaves him. He doesn’t remember a time jerking off has been this much of a hassle.

But the body wants what the body wants and so he just keeps stroking, squeezing, let’s the image of Clark Kent get blurry and fade a little. Who needs details anyway? It feels good, that’s all that matters. He's speeding up again. So what if those eyes have been brown all along? And his hair not quite that black. Henry can still imagine grabbing a fistful of it, while those lips are closed around him... He lets another moan escape his mouth and pumps even faster. So what if his glasses are not quite so nerdy anymore, but just a hint darker – are they shades? And is that… _Greg_!?

With a start Henry’s eyes fly open as he comes all over himself, realizing that his brain has just transformed his mental image of _Superman_ into the face of one Greg Sanders.

_Holy hell._

Henry’s heart keeps racing as he thinks about that.

So much for sleep…


End file.
